from eden (or whence thee came)
by milk ghost
Summary: Magicked back 400 years into the past, all Lucy wants is to go home. But to do so, she'll need the help of the best brawler in all of Fiore: the fabled Demon Lord. Everyone has secrets, and perhaps, the ties that bind run deeper than time. - natsu/lucy


**notes: **i've been binge-watching a lot of _outlander_. it inspired this monstrosity. what a life.  
**disclaimer: **i own _nothing. _

_I am the lady of Balnain,  
the folk have stolen me again, again  
the stones seem to say -_

**i.** stranger in a strange land -

Lucy had not believed in magic for a very, very long time - not since her mother had died.

Perhaps, if she _had_ believed, then what would transpire that chilly October night would had never happened. Perhaps, if she had listened to the folk tales, the oral traditions that wove truth and fiction together into myths and legends and warnings to be heeded, then her life would have gone unarguably differently. Perhaps, if she had not been so stubborn and strong-willed, if her father had not tried to force her into a union she wanted no part of, perhaps she would have led a rather humdrum and conventional life.

But alas, Lucy had never much been one to heed warnings, and she was more stubborn than a mule, and she was rather unconventional. Perhaps part of her had always hungered for adventure - where, deep down, the little girl who memorized the fairy tales and family history her mother had told her every night before bed was still there. Perhaps she dreamed of something more, something greater than leading an average life of a Lady. Perhaps a tiny portion, an itty bitty smidgen of her still believed in the wild and in the magic of the hills, of something that existed so long ago her mother had told her that it had only become folklore. Perhaps that is why she climbed out of her third story bedroom window one chilly October night and escape from the dreary fate that her father had chosen. Perhaps she was tired of living in an empty estate with a father who didn't seem to love her. Perhaps she had decided to forge her own way, to weave her own fate.

Whatever the case, what she could never have known was that she had always been destined for something wilder than any ploy her father could have strung together.

Lucy had not believed in magic for an impossibly long time, and that was exactly the problem.

_X_

Huffing, Lucy Heartfilia adjusts the small satchel thrown over her shoulder and turns to look one last time at her childhood home. The Heartfilia Estate was a bit of a fearful thing to behold. Once, it had been warm and welcoming and full of happiness. Now, it seemed as those all the gardens were dead, despite the gardeners tending to them daily, and so was any love and joy that had once flourished within its walls. It had become nothing but an empty and tired old house that belonged to an empty and cold old man. The faint lights of the party her father had thrown - an announcement of her engagement to some well-off man that had been knighted by the Queen herself still flicker in the mist of the night. There was sure to be a riot when they discovered she had not, in fact, simply gone to rest after dinner.

Smiling to herself and pleased with her escape, she waves her goodbyes to the manor and turns back to expanse of barren land before her. There was a little village about 12 kilometers away, where she could probably catch the train to Magnolia in the morning. By the time her father and the rest of Fiore's high society that had gathered at the estate realized that she wasn't in her room, it would be too late. She would already be lost among the hundreds of thousands of people in Magnolia, and she would already be someone else. Her father would, ideally, never find her. And neither would her boring fiance that she had just met a little over two hours ago.

Lucy pulls her coat closer around her to keep out the biting autumn air and turns toward the direction of the village. She had a long walk ahead of her, and she needed to make the first train out of town. It was going to be rough, and tiresome, and she had never much liked hiking excursions anyway, but it was different this time. She felt free, like a great burden that had weighed on her heart for years had been lifted. This was her first taste of true freedom, of no restricting manor walls or expectations that were not her own. She finally had the chance to chase after her own dreams, finally had the chance to be herself. No more obnoxious gowns, or pretentious afternoon teas, or bloody embroidery. She could finally live like a normal girl in the 20th century. She could indulge in the new daringly and scandalously revealing fashions, or go to a dance held in a barn instead of a ballroom. She could go anywhere she wanted to go, be anyone she wanted to be. That was the magic of it, and the only magic she believed in.

Her mother had always told her bedtime stories of years past, when magic thrived about like oxygen in the atmosphere. Where the wildness was untamed, the fae roamed free, and everything was different. But over time, things changed. People changed, and somewhere, along the way, that magic and wilderness had become nothing but myth and fable - only remembered by people now because it was written down in children's storybooks and sold for jewels. But her mother had always believed that the magic still existed inside of everyone, in a way. She had always claimed that she could see it in Lucy - she had that mysterious and untamed wildness about her. That she would become someone of utmost importance, someday. That she too, might become someone and something of folklore. That perhaps she has been burdened with some great purpose, more wondrous and fantastical than either of them could ever imagine.

Perhaps she is mulling over this so much that she fails to realize that she took the wrong fork in the path, or that it has since dwindled down to nothing more than a deer's trail. It isn't until she reaches the jagged edges of a formation of rocks that she realizes something is wrong. The circle of sacred stones seems to stare back at her accusingly, maybe to blame her for trespassing. She remembers this place from one of her mother's fairy tale books - a site sacred to the Druids. Supposedly, it was a place where Druid ceremonies and rituals would take place, where magic flowed free and secret. But archaeologists have never been sure _what_ exactly these stone circles were actually intended for, or if they were even used by the Druids at all.

Rolling her eyes at the unsettling feeling taking root in her stomach, Lucy is about to turn around and backtrack to the main road. That is, until a gust of wind extinguishes the light of her lantern. Something like dread runs cold and fast through her veins as the wind whispers through the trees, and she swears that it is talking to her. She feels breathless, like she's run the entire way to get to where she is now. That unsettling feeling in her stomach takes a plunge as she hears the rustling of the underbrush and the low humming of voices.

Dropping to the ground, she crouches behind a boulder and watches in awe and disbelief as a dozen or so women drift from the wilderness to the stone circle. They are all dressed in white, wispy gowns and wearing a woven wreath of leaves over a white veil. Immediately, she knows who they are. She also recognizes them from her mother's book: women Druids. They split off into partners and begin to sing, twirling and sweeping across the grass, weaving around inside the stones. It's beautiful - a breathtaking kind of graceful and bewitching dance that's never before seen. Their voices weave together into a winsome harmony, perhaps singing a spell that she can't quite understand.

She feels like an outsider - an intruder. Maybe the stone circle had been right. She wasn't meant to be here. Something inside her heart stirs at the accusation of trespassing, of seeing something she shouldn't have seen. Part of her knows that she needs to go - that unsettling feeling growing into a gaping hole in the pit of her stomach isn't for nothing. That if she stays, _something_ is going to happen. Yet the other part of her longs to be dancing with them, to also be like a ghost or a faerie floating around the night. And maybe that is what keeps her there, a silent and unwelcome spectator, until the Druid women and girls end their ritual dance and begin to drift out of the stone circle and disappear into the moor as silently as they had come. One by one, they blow out their paper lanterns, lean their foreheads and press their palms against the middle stone, and then turn and depart.

When the last girl is gone, when minutes have passed and she knows that it is only her there, Lucy slips down from her hiding spot. Tentatively, she approaches the middle stone. No amount of years of ballet and ballroom waltz lessons could ever teach her how to dance like those Druid women had. The heiress stops before the stone and stares, and deep down, that wildness her mother had been so fond of begins to stir. And in a burst of courage she never meant to have, she gingerly places her palms on the cool surface of the stone. For a second, there is nothing. She feels only the chilly October breeze and a wild sense of freedom.

And then, the world goes black.

When she awakes, she realizes that something has gone horribly, terribly, wrong. Her head feels like shit, and all her limbs ache. Morning has come some time ago, and she has already missed the morning train to Magnolia. No doubt her father has discovered that she is missing, is in a particularly foul mood, and has sent search parties to fetch her. A wave of panic washes over her, and Lucy scrambles to her feet. She makes a mad dash back down the path and toward the direction of the village, wondering what on God's green earth had actually happened the night before. She runs and runs, tripping on her skirt and then clambering upright again, for there is no time to lose. But something is wrong. There is no path where there should be.

The landscape looks different. Sure, there are some things that remain the same, but the reality of the situation is that this isn't the moor she knows. Or the moor she thought she knew. The newfound freedom inside her swells into fear, and she comes to an abrupt halt, turning and turning, trying to find familiarity in a foreign land. She recognizes the Old Hill, which is exactly where it should be, which means that she is exactly where she should be. But there is no old junkyard car that's been at the crossroads for years. There is no sign post with a sloppily painted "Town 2 Km," "Heartfilia Manor 10 Km," or "Clover 32 Km" sticking out of the ground. There is nothing but her and the wilderness, and the fear gnawing inside of her.

"Mama," she breathes out. "Mother in heaven, where am I? What happened?"

The wildflowers at her feet brush together in the gentle breeze, and the moor is silent. She stands there at the edge of the moor and the forest for a long time, wondering what to do and where to go, before the silence of the wilderness is interrupted by the pounding footsteps of horses and men's shouts. Lucy jumps at the sound of a gun, and then another, and watches in disbelief as men in literal period clothing come charging toward her. One of them takes a shot at her, and suddenly she decides that she is going to make a break for the forest. The jewels in her satchel clink together as she flies through the trees, breath ragged from running she hard and fast. Somewhere along the way she loses both of her shoes, crosses a creek, and finally trips on an exposed tree root and tumbles over a ledge.

Groaning, she drags herself to her feet and presses against the cliff rock as the men pursuing her cross by overhead. Sighing in relief, she leans her head back and closes her eyes. Something was definitely wrong, alright. It wasn't like she had just stumbled onto a film set, or a historical reenactment of some long-ago battle. Those bullets had been real, and some of them had been meant for her. Idly, she wonders who the others had been for and opens her eyes. That's when she sees the man crouched by the creek staring back at her.

"Are you lost, miss?" he sends her a charming smile, but something about him sets her on edge. "You're an awful long way from the village."

"I am? I am," Lucy corrects herself, fingers brushing the rock and dirt behind her. "I was separated from my traveling companions, the Oxford brothers," she half lies, referring to her now missing shoes. "We were attacked by some bandits and...do you know how I might get back to town, good sir? I can only assume that my companions will meet with me there."

The man is still smiling. "Oh, I see. My name is Michael. I might know of a way." Michael stands. "Shame you were attacked by bandits. Did they steal your clothes, my lady?"

"Oh, yes." Lucy affirms, looking down at her simple white dress that was now covered in dirt and moss. "It was rather an ordeal, you see."

His smile turns into something a little darker. "Yes, I can see that. Are you sure that they stole your clothes, miss?" he moves closer to her, and that unsettling feeling in Lucy's stomach returns. "Or did you perhaps remove them yourself?"

Her body stiffens. "Perhaps," she grates out, "you can be a little more decent with your words there, Sir Michael. You are speaking to a Lady, after all."

"Am I?" he scoffs, and that is when she finally notices the young boy tied to a tree. His mouth is gagged, eyes on the two of them, and they are full of panic. "I know for a fact that you were not robbed by bandits. So what sort of Lady is out wandering the countryside in nothing but her shift?"

His grin is predatory, and he lunges at her like some sort of animal. Lucy throws herself to the side, but he manages to catch her arm. He wrenches it at a terrible angle, and she lets out an agonized cry. The terror and the wildness within her clash together into something worse than fear. Perhaps it is the wildness that wins out in the end, because a sudden rush overcomes her and she doesn't even think. Michael harshly shoves her face forward into the rocky overhang, his rancid breath on her neck. That's when it happens. Lucy throws her head back with all her strength. There is a sickening crack as the back of her skull connects with Michael's nose. He lets out an inhuman guffaw and stumbles backwards, swearing. She turns and raises her fist, aiming for his face again. He doesn't even have the time to react. His blood splatters her dress and her fist as it smashes against his already broken nose. He falls to the ground, and he does not get back up.

Lucy quickly snatches the dagger out of his belt and backs away, eyes on him as she rushes to cut the boy loose. Once she has removed the dirty cloth stuck into his mouth and cut away the ropes, she is surprised when he throws his arms around her. His grin is wide and missing a few teeth, but his eyes are bright. He isn't wearing any shoes, either, and only sports a plaid vest over a half open and dirtied white tunic that's rather tragically tucked into a pair of patched-up knickers.

"Are you a faerie?" he queries in a strange accent. "Aye, or are you an angel? You're not a ghost, 'cause I can touch you. But you sure look like one."

Lucy makes a face at the fact that he even considered the possibility of her being a ghost. "What are you doing all the way out here? It's dangerous!"

"I could say the same for you," he tosses back. "An' just so you know, I was fishing."

She pinches the bridge of her nose and feels a sudden headache coming on. "Fishing…" she mumbles, gathering the remnants of the rope. "You were _fishing_…."

"Aye," he nods, cheerfully, kicking the unconscious and bleeding leech in the ribs. "But I got caught by Bora and his gang of bandits. They were going to sell me off," he looks up at her. "He was going to do the same thing to you."

"How lovely," Lucy intones as she binds Michael's wrists and ankles together.

"What are you doin' out here by yourself?" the boy, who can't be more than seven, questions. "You look like you fell down the bottom of a well. And you ain't wearin' any shoes or nothin'."

Scoffing at his rudeness, she ties some extra knots for good measure. It looks like going sailing had actually helped her, after all. "_Excuse_ you. Rude. Well, for your information, I'm lost." her gaze turns sad as her voices drops. "And I don't know how to get home."

The boy pulls himself atop a boulder and looks at her, kicking his bare feet back and forth. He's quiet for a while. "You're different, ain't you." The way he says it is more of a statement than a question. "Pretty different. I ain't ever met a girl like you before. Never seen one hit a guy like that either."

She snorts, brushing away a few tears. "Thanks, I guess. Do you have a name, you rude little rascal?"

He grins at her again. "Name's Happy. Nice to meet ya. What's your name, faerie girl?"

She looks up at him and despite the strangeness of it, she can't help but feel the name Happy really does suit him. He seems different, too. Different from any other little boy she's ever met. There's something wild about him - from the way his blue hair is all tousled, to his dirty bare feet kicking in the air, and the mischief sparkling in his eyes. She decides that he isn't a normal boy at all.

"Lucy," she answers. "My name is Lucy. Why do you keep asking me if I'm a faerie? They aren't real."

Happy crooks a sideways smirk at her, eyes glittering with a secret. "'Cause I asked the forest for help, and then you showed up. Girls don't just fall from the sky, beat up bandits, and then hogtie 'em."

She scowls at him, glancing at the bastard that is indeed hogtied in front of them. "Fair."

"Plus, you talk funny," he tilts his head at her. "I ain't ever heard anybody talk like you. And you're running around in your nightgown."

Deciding to change the subject, Lucy stands up and attempts to brush off her dress. "Why on God's green earth were you out here fishing by yourself?"

"I wasn't by _myself_," Happy scoffs, crossing his arms. "I was with someone. He was goin' after Bora's bandits."

This piece of information seems to spark a memory within Lucy, and she pulls Happy down off the boulder in a panic. "We have to go," she urges. "Right now. I was chased here, and I bet they're still around. They have _guns_. We need to _leave_."

Happy glances down at the broken-nosed Michael. "They ain't gonna be too happy if they find out that you hogtied their leader."

Lucy goes rigid. "_He's_ their leader?! And stop bringing up the fact that I hogtied him!"

"I really ain't ever seen a faerie that hogties people," Happy murmurs, musing over the man on the ground.

Lucy tugs on his arm. "Let's _go_," she urges again. "We have to get out of here before they come back."

"_If_ they come back," Happy posits, but doesn't protest as she takes off running into the trees. Running away with strange girls wasn't really one of the strangest things he'd ever done. And she was doing it in his best interest. _Although_ she was truly the strangest girl he'd ever met, and he'd met a lot of girls during his time with Natsu and the clan. "I think I know someone who could help you get home," he wheezes out as they run.

"You do?" Lucy questions, truly interested.

He nods, making sure that he's holding tight to her hand. "The Great Demon Lord."

_Good Lord_, she thinks to herself, but it's better than the nothing she had before.

Perhaps, if she had had a chance to go back in time and never run away in the first place, she would have stayed in the manor. Perhaps her life may not have been so dull, after all. But the truth is, she never would have made a different choice. And, if she had been given the chance to do it all over again, she would. She would run away all over again, because she would never change anything that happened. Not a single thing.

_S mise bean Tighearna Bhail' 'n Athain,  
__Tha na Sith air mo ghoid a-rithist, a-rithist  
__Tha mar g'eill gach clach ga radh - _

\- _to be continued..._

**end notes: **yea idk if i'd trust a guy who goes by the street name of "the great demon lord" either to be completely honest. let's be real. also i'm sorry ffnet doesn't seem to like the gaidhlig accents and things. i apologize.  
**extra extra: **lucy is around 18 here, and happy is 7. that is all for now.


End file.
